


my life’s okay, just when you’re not around me

by pinklemonade273



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Addiction, Cocaine, Damian Has Curly Hair, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Drugs, Eventual Smut, Forget the Coffee, He Upgraded, I Have No Idea Where Im Going With This Story, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sorry Not Sorry, Tim is a Cocaine Addict, because I say so, cocaine addiction, i think
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-14 11:55:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28545183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinklemonade273/pseuds/pinklemonade273
Summary: “It’s like there’s a weight on his chest when he tries to get up, making it hard to breathe and even harder to see why he should bother trying at all, until the itchiness is what gets him up. He has to scratch at it, he has to get another hit, and that’s what gives him the strength to get up in the mornings. Tim can’t do it by himself anymore, and he despises that most of all.”
Relationships: Tim Drake/Damian Wayne
Comments: 5
Kudos: 35





	my life’s okay, just when you’re not around me

**Author's Note:**

> Damian is 17, Tim is in his mid 20’s. Or maybe they’re in completely different age ranges, I don’t care, imagine them how you want lol

It would be quiet if not for the music playing through Tim’s earbuds. It’s upbeat. Something he could dance to if he wasn’t so focused on his work right now. As it is, he just listens to it and occasionally taps his foot to the beat. 

  
  


Other than the music, there’s the sound of his fingers clacking against the keyboard, only pausing when he has to switch between tabs. He’s got a lot of them open by now, but that’s just because he’s gotten a lot of work done in the past few—minutes? hours? It doesn’t matter, he’s got a wonderful new idea to propose at the next board meeting. 

  
  


It’s dark outside. Inside, too. Tam must’ve left already because there’s no light leaking in through the crack of Tim’s office door from the hallway. He’s sitting in almost complete darkness, only lit by the glow of his computer screen. 

  
  


If he stopped for a break he could look out his windows at the night sky. But he doesn’t need a break. 

  
  


The song changes, and Tim’s just about to look down at his phone to check which song it’s gone to when he’s suddenly bathed in light. 

  
  


“What the fuck, Damian?” He has to shield his eyes from the glaring brightness as he looks at the boy standing in the doorway. 

  
  


“It’s late. What are you doing here?” Tim has to resist the urge to shoot a glance down at his desk. He’s not sure if he threw the plastic baggy away or if it’s still sitting there for anyone to see, but looking at it would be a dead giveaway. 

  
  


“What are _you_ doing here?” Does he sound too defensive? 

  
  


“You weren’t at your apartment. Or your safehouse. Or your other safehouse. Father sent me to come get you,” Damian says. 

  
  


“Couldn’t he have just called?”

  
  


“Have you met him?” 

  
  


That actually makes Tim crack a small smile, even if it’s a bit forced. “Yeah, you’re right. So what did he want that was just so important?” 

  
  


“I believe it was your night to patrol.” 

  
  


Tim checks his calendar, “ _Shit_.” 

  
  


“It’s not like you to forget these things,” Damian takes a seat on the desk. It gives Tim the perfect excuse to move some things around on his desk in the guise of clearing space, in reality confirming that the baggy is definitely in the trash bin and not in plain sight. “And why are you still here?” 

  
  


“Just workin’,” Tim mumbles, holding back a sigh of relief as he finally lets himself relax into his chair just slightly. 

  
  


Damian looks out of place. He’s got on an old oversized sweatshirt and a pair of cuffed skinny jeans. His hair is a curly mess that probably needed to be brushed through days ago. It’s not really what you’d expect if you were to imagine The Damian Wayne in The Wayne Enterprises. 

  
  


“Did security really just let you in here like that?” 

  
  


“What do you mean ‘like that’?” Damian scowls. “And all I had to do was show them my ID.” 

  
  


“Well, you don’t look very professional.”

  
  


“It’s one in the morning, I doubt they cared if I was wearing a suit or not.” 

  
  


_One in the-?_ “You might be working here soon, get used to it while you can.” He hadn’t meant to lose track of so much time. 

  
  


Damian wrinkles his nose, obviously not a fan of where the conversation has gone. Just like Tim knew he wouldn’t be. He stands up, halfway ready to leave if the expression of thinly veiled disdain on his face means anything. 

  
  


“Are you staying or going?” Damian asks.

  
  


Tim looks around. He can’t excuse staying behind any longer. It’d be nice to stay and work more, but Damian would ask questions. He bounces his leg to expel some excess energy and resigns himself with a sigh. “Going. I really need to get some sleep.” 

  
  


The walk down is quiet until they get outside, when Damian abruptly grabs his wrist. 

  
  


“Drake?”

  
  


“Yes?” 

  
  


“Is everything alright?” 

  
  


“What do you mean?” Tim frowns.

  
  


“You don’t seem yourself.” 

  
  


“I’m just tired.” 

  
  


“Have you eaten since lunch?”

  
  


_No…_ “Yeah, Tam got me some Thai food earlier.” 

  
  


Damian lets go of his wrist, worry tugging down on the corners of his lips. “Okay.” 

  
  
  
  
  
  


The mornings are always the worst. 

  
  


It took Tim hours to fall asleep, staring at the television and then the wall and then the ceiling. Once the coke wears off he just feels empty. He can’t even think about getting any work done on his cases or for WE, he just lies there, no energy. Boneless. 

  
  


The cocaine is nice because it always gives him energy. It gives him what he needs to get all his work done, what he needs to be a good Robin. When he’s on it he can work for hours. He doesn’t need food or sleep or a break, Tim can just happily work like the good soldier he is. 

  
  


But then the nights come. And then the mornings. 

  
  


Tim can always feel the energy being drained from him. The emptiness takes over and makes it hard to imagine that he’ll ever be happy again. He’ll sink into his bedsheets and wish he could sink even further, just enough to finally get warm or get to sleep or suffocate—whichever comes first. 

  
  


When he wakes up, as he always manages to do somehow, it’s somehow even more terrible than the nights. All the numbness is there but it gets combined with a horrible headache and an itchiness in his limbs. He hates it everytime, hates what he has to do, but Tim knows the only way to make it go away is to do another line. 

  
  


So yeah, mornings are the worst. Because he’s always itchy and fidgety, and he can’t stop hating himself for wanting another hit to bring back the focus and the energy and the buzz. 

  
  


It’s like there’s a weight on his chest when he tries to get up, making it hard to breathe and even harder to see why he should bother trying at all, until the itchiness is what gets him up. He has to scratch at it, he has to get another hit, and that’s what gives him the strength to get up in the mornings. Tim can’t do it by himself anymore, and he despises that most of all. 

**Author's Note:**

> I know my way around a blunt or two but know barely anything about cocaine. I did do a bunch of research beforehand (instead of doing my actual school work...) so I tried my best, but comment if you think something is incorrect or portrayed inaccurately. 
> 
> This chapter is pretty short ig but it’s because I honestly don’t know where I’m going with the plot at all, I just wrote this to get out of my writers block. So also comment suggestions lol and we’ll see where this goes


End file.
